


hand on my heart (i’m down on my knees)

by semperfemina



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, Jesus Christ These Tags (TM), Recreational Drug Use, heavy on the porn light on the feelings, lapslock but it’s porn so who cares, loving your favorite person selfishly as little a treat, oral fixafion, this is just trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26115874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfemina/pseuds/semperfemina
Summary: “fuck you,” party bites, the words all quiet and low, strained between his teeth.“yeah, fuck me,” ghoul laughs breathlessly, dizzy and strung out. he smiles around the fingers in his mouth. “maybe later.”
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	hand on my heart (i’m down on my knees)

party doesn’t agree with a lot of things ghoul does but ghoul has come around to thinking that it all comes down to principle at this point. 

party can be a real contrarian just to get a rise out of him and this only serves to make ghoul dig his own heels in harder. 

( _you’re too goddamned stubborn,_ party says to him once, more than once, and the only thing that shuts him up is ghoul barking _look who’s talking._

and party spits onto the dirt between them, rustles up more dust than necessary with his boots when he stalks off and they don’t talk for three days: until jet asks why and kobra tells him and jet laughs for so long and so hard that they’re ready to throw him outside. 

_i think you jackasses may have actually walked a big enough circle around the point that you finally arrived at it,_ he says finally and it’s someone else pointing out the tediousness of the stalemate that makes party and ghoul decide to let bygones be bygones. for the time being, at least.)

party doesn’t agree with the way ghoul drives or the way he reads maps even though that seems self-explanatory or the way he field dresses whatever hole one of them has blown in themselves lately and in all fairness, the current runs both ways: ghoul doesn’t agree with party a good portion of the time either, and he isn’t sure that they really know who is being spiteful to whom at this point but he is sure that it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change anything - same broken record, same broken clock. 

party definitely, completely, one hundred and fifty percent does not agree with ghoul taking his own carbons, stolen or earned honestly, and spending them on drugs but there’s a thing, a pseudo-rave out in zone five later, and there’s no better time to have drugs and no worse times to be without them. 

( _that’s stupid,_ party says flatly when he watches ghoul palm the little bag of tablets he buys from tommy chow mein at what is an egregious and horrendous markup, courtesy of some runner kid from bat city, into his pocket.)

 _that’s stupid,_ party had said, but not _too_ stupid now that it’s nighttime out here in the desert and some new band is kicking up a thunderclap of noise. when ghoul has fished two of the little rounds out of the plastic baggie and has put them into his palm, he looks at party and raises his brows and asks, “wanna roll?” 

and party says _no_ but he doesn’t fight or argue when ghoul tugs at his wrist, drops both of the pills past his own lips. and he really doesn’t fight when ghoul pushes open his mouth and shoves the tablets onto his tongue. the ecstasy is as fine as candy but half as sweet and ghoul mumbles _share,_ so party does, opens his mouth with a lazy sort of ease and lets ghoul take back what’s his. 

(moments go by, not many, and then the ecstasy is all gone between the two of them, another pass back and forth. and if ghoul’s fingers tremble a bit when he reaches up to pat party’s cheekbone with his palm, he’ll say it’s the drugs and they’ll both pretend not to notice. 

“be good,” he says, and then he slips away, into the crowd, happy enough to go get lost for a while; the illusion that he is still free.) 

he dances for a long time, stares up at the sky longer, kisses a stranger with neon purple hair and tries not to think about party or about how the empty space on his left feels too open without him there. he feels half-complete; a hollow ache like a phantom limb. 

time moves strangely, moves sideways. he finds party. 

he finds himself back at party’s side, inexplicable, and he’s only half paying attention to what’s going on because there’s a lot happening all at once, more colors and sounds than he thinks he’s been around in a long time and when he feels a gentle little tap on his forearm, it’s party and he’s holding the keys to the trans am, shoving them in ghoul’s direction with a keychain (a motel keychain that he found buried in the dirt years ago, thick and rubbery) extended. ghoul realizes that he’s grinding his teeth. 

party goddamn poison, carrying on a conversation with some no-name ritalin rats like he’s not two tabs of x deep, keeping it together and certainly handling his high better than ghoul. ghoul scoffs but takes the keychain, a little begrudgingly, worries it between his molars and zones out again, trying to isolate the tangle of his brain down to one thing to focus on but he can’t. 

it’s loud, and it’s hot, and the music just keeps building and building and never coming down and the guitar feels like it’s inside his head - 

the next thing he knows, he is away from the lights and the noises, he is out in the dark. he’s with party, near party, sitting down in the dirt and sure that it’s party that put him there 

“cool down,” party says, uncapping a canteen full of water and ghoul waves it off but it’s back in his face in moments. he takes a drink, mostly just to be left alone. 

“you’re high as a fucking kite.” party says and ghoul looks up at him; he looks wild, his hair on-fire and tousled all to hell, his pupils blown open wide and dark and ghoul feels a strange thrum in his chest, his stomach. he has to look away. 

“dude,” he says after a moment. “so are you.”

they dissolve into laughter, bright and warm, and it feels nice, feels safe, feels like home. party laughs with his head thrown back under the moon and he has to steady himself with a hand on ghoul’s shoulders. _it should be like this all the time,_ ghoul thinks and it’s a nice thought to have. he forgets why they argue so much and doesn’t care to try and remember. 

the laughter dies and then it’s quiet, easier; ghoul sways a little without realizing it and is lost for a moment until he feels party’s fingers tapping against his jaw. 

“stop that shit, man,” party insists softly and ghoul is grinding his teeth a-fucking-gain: he knocks the keychain away when party offers it, intent on trying to will himself to stop, to self-soothe without needing a _toy_ but he can’t. party taps on his face again, harder this time, and ghoul feels his chest flush with warmth. 

_okay, okay, okay,_ he’s repeating, reaching up and grabbing absentmindedly at party’s hand and party doesn’t seem to mind, stands there rocking back and forth to the tune of the music that suddenly sounds very, very far away and ghoul can feel his throat going tight again. he sighs heavily, isn’t thinking much about anything except not clenching his jaw back together when he hooks the tips of two of party’s fingers into his mouth and bites down, experimental. 

“ghoul, what the _fuck?_ ” party half-yelps, half-groans. ghoul rakes his teeth against the pads of his fingers like a teething puppy, sharp into soft and it feels curious, feels strange, feels good. party doesn’t pull away. 

and then there is a strange shift in the air between them, the space where ghoul sits and party stands: the world tilts over and starts to pour like an hourglass and ghoul presses both of his thumbs into party’s palm. he looks up into his eyes, flicks his tongue over the tips of party’s fingers. a dare, a challenge, a game of would you rather; fuck or fight, ghoul thinks, and it makes him smile. party smiles, too and ghoul spends a moment longer than he should wondering if party can see straight into his head, read his mind. 

_pretty mouth_ , party says, pushing his index finger into the center of ghoul’s bottom lip. _smart, too. you just don’t know when to stop. you don’t know when to shut up._

 _then shut me up_ , ghoul says, grabs party’s wrists and pulls him closer. 

ghoul flattens his tongue against the length of two of party’s long fingers, hollows his cheeks and sucks and it steals a gasp from somewhere in the space up above him. 

ghoul likes this too much and he’s sure it’s not even the drugs, it’s something else, something more simple and more complicated at the same time. something basic and animal and true, something that lives in his heart more than his head. it’s the way he’s always felt about party, the way he’s always thought of him; adoration that steeped a little too long, turned into something heady and bitter and thick. 

he likes party too much; loves him, even, differently than he loves the others, selfishly and a little cruel. 

( _stop_ , party says at one point, his voice sounding thin and ghoul does. 

_stop?_ ghoul echoes, pulling his head back so that he can lean and look up at party, at the stars swirling around like something from a painting behind him and party is quiet for a long moment and then he’s saying _no, no_ \- 

ghoul takes the same digits back into his mouth. party puts them halfway down the back of his throat before he chokes, wet and messy, around them.) 

when he looks up at party again, he has to blink tears out of his eyes. party shivers, a little loss of control, and ghoul laughs again. 

“fuck you,” party bites, the words all quiet and low, strained between his teeth.

“yeah, fuck me,” ghoul says breathlessly, dizzy and strung out. he smiles around the fingers in his mouth. “maybe later.” 

he bites at party’s fingers, harder than before; wonders how hard he’d have to press to draw blood and the thought makes his head go fuzzy and filled with static, white noise between his ears, the feeling of party’s skin in his teeth. 

_good boy,_ party says to him like he’s a pet, a stray goddamned dog, and it makes ghoul’s skin crawl and itch, makes him feel like he has battery acid in his veins instead of blood and he whines. 

_c’mon_ , he’s saying, _c’mon, c‘mon_ like he’s still trying to goad party, wanting more. he drops his hands from party’s arm, claws half-heartedly at his belt buckle but party won’t budge, shoves his hands away and he won’t give and finally he says, “no.” 

says: “do what you were doing ‘till you come, or you don’t come at all.” 

ghoul keens at this, sounds wounded, and he feels so fucking stupid and pathetic and small and worst of all he feels _good_ ; party reaches out his other hand, follows the curve of ghoul’s face and tucks his hair behind his ear and ghoul feels stripped down to his skeleton, feels like an open wound. party is stroking his cheek - his blood sings. 

ghoul shoves one of his hands between his thighs, pushes up into the hollow of his palm but then party is toeing his hand away with the rough edge of his boot, pressing the center of the sole of his shoe into the place where ghoul’s hand just was. 

“be good,” he says and ghoul whimpers at his own words being turned around, closes his teeth around party’s fingers until he hisses in a breath, until it hurts. ghoul gags half as often as he doesn’t, likes it twice as much when he does, loses himself in the spit-slick slide of his mouth around party’s fingers and the insistent press of party’s boot against his cock. then, quicker than he could’ve expected it, the world goes quiet and white, lightening at the base of his spine and he finds himself gasping softly in the aftermath of it, his jaw stretched open and sore. 

ghoul feels disgusting but he doesn’t mind, maybe even likes it a little; he throws himself backwards into the ground, unceremonious and clumsy, tired and used up but not close to coming down. there’s a faint rasp and a click and then the smell of smoke and party is leaned over him laughing, smoking a cigarette. 

( _party_ , he’s saying, half-cognizant of how fucked up his own voice sounds. party reaches down and closes his hands around ghoul’s, yanks him up until he’s sitting. _party, you’re my favorite_ \- 

_i know,_ party says, _i know that_. he doesn’t say anything else, just pulls ghoul up onto his feet. ghoul is embarrassed and relieved in turns, tries to commit to memory that sensation of being _seen_ for when he’s sober, for when he needs to feel like someone is looking.)

“come on,” party says, cigarette caught in the corner of his mouth before ghoul reaches out to grab it and steal a long drag, his mouth aching the entire time. “still got a lot of trouble to cause.” the desert is dark and still and quiet around them save for the twinkle of lights off in the distance, the music still playing. ghoul hands the cigarette back and their fingers brush in the space between and it feels like there’s enough electricity to set the whole world on fire.

and when party turns to leave, ghoul follows, same as he always has. 

**Author's Note:**

> i’m going to go ask god for forgiveness 
> 
> big thank you to sawyer for sitting around patiently and nodding approvingly while i did this crazy shit - you’re MY favorite 
> 
> i’m on twitter / @B0YDlVISl0N


End file.
